Music to My Ears
by The Lazy Medi-Wolf
Summary: Bran loses Leah. Sam and Charles take him to his birthplace to help him find himself, remember who he was. He hears a voice on the wind that reminds him, and calls him home.


Twelve years after his mate, Leah, died Bran's two sons, Charles and Samuel, decided he needed a vacation. The Aspen Creek Pack was stable enough they could last without him for a week so they planned a visit to their father's home, to Wales. And it was for that reason that the three of them were walking through a "National Forest" to his first home, to the place where he had been born, grown up, and "died".

Bran smiled at his two sons, "It's just up over that rise," he assured them. He was so surprised and pleased he remembered the way. The wind picked up and blew against their faces and for the first time in a long time Bran laughed.

Carried on the wind was a voice, haunting and sweet it made the three men stop in their tracks. Samuel and Charles were startled and enthralled by the sweetness, and the despair. Bran was rooted to the spot because the voice struck a cord in his memory. The words of the song it sang were different, the language was English, not Old Welsh, but he remembered that voice.

"Please tell me you hear that voice," he said softly to his sons. At their nod he broke into a run, his legs carrying him swiftly up over the hill. They found a large meadow and saw a single figure silhouetted by the sinking sun. The person, clearly a woman, held the reigns of a large horse and stood over something.

Bran felt his heart contract, "Kellany," he whispered. He yelled the name a second time but the wind carried his voice away from the woman. He growled and ran toward her.

"I probably would be this way," The woman sang, "I probably wouldn't hurt this bad. I never pictured every minute without you in it, Oh you left so fast." Bran's legs churned faster but she was already mounting the horse. "Sometimes I see you standing there, Sometimes I feel an angel's touch. Sometimes I feel that I'm lucky to have had the chance to love this much. God gave me a moment's grace, 'Cause if I'd never of seen your face I probably wouldn't be this way." She kicked the horse into a full gallop and they raced off, toward the setting sun.

When he reached the place where she'd been standing Bran looked about. He inhaled deeply and he groaned in remembrance, "Kellany, My Kellany."

"Da?" Asked Samuel with a worried look on his face. "What's wrong? Do you know her?"

Bran laughed, "Maybe, but probably not. She… her voice… I suppose she's the doppelganger for… for Kellany."

Charles crouched, trying to make out what was on the stone set into the ground. "Who was Kellany?" He asked.

Bran sighed, "Kellany was… I suppose you could say she was my first love." Charles looked up at his father, silently asking him to continue the story. "Kellany was the daughter of a very wealthy family. Meaning they had a large heard of sheep. So they ranged these hills all year. During the winters they'd remain in a small village just west of here, it's now a fairly decent sized town. But they'd spend a few months of each summer here, in our area. When I was about… eighteen they came and with them was the man's only daughter, Kellany. She was fourteen. I was intrigued by her, she could sing like an angel, and at that age she looked like one. But as the years passed… we grew closer and she grew up. By the time she was sixteen I was in love and desperate to marry her.

"But because her family was so wealthy she had a fairly high bride price. I couldn't scrape it up. So I gave her the only thing of wealth I had, a ring I'd made from scrap silver, a claddagh. She swore to wear it always, that she'd love me forever and she'd talk to her mother. She would convince Kel's father to let us marry." He sighed and looked up into the sky, remembering their last (and first) kiss. He could still remember exactly how she tasted, how she smelled.

"What happened?" Samuel asked softly.

Bran smiled bitterly, "That winter was my 21st. I was attacked by a werewolf and changed. My father found me. He knew my mother was a witch, knew what my new 'curse' would mean for her. So he claimed I'd died. He slaughtered some poor drunken bastard and they buried him as me somewhere around here."

Charles looked up at his father, "Here, Da," he said softly, "They buried 'you' here."

Bran knelt and brushed his fingers over the ancient stone. It was old, but not as old as it ought to be, not by far. But on it said in Old Welsh, "Bran Cornik" with his dates of birth and death. "Someone has been replacing it every few hundred years," Charles said softly, "Someone remembers you."

Bran quivered and looked to the west, toward where the Kellany doppelganger had gone. "She… she can't still be living," he murmured.

Once they arrived home Charles began looking for his father's Kellany. He found no records for anyone by that name but he kept himself open. One day he would find her, if she was still living. If only to see that look of child-like wonder on his father's face again.

Two years since his trip back home Bran finally decided he had to get out of Aspen Creek for a while. The memories of Leah, of pack mates who were long gone… they were slowly killing him. So he had Charles create a new life for him as a student at a small arts university in North Carolina.

He'd made a few friends, bold and vibrant young men who liked his art and found his silences brooding and 'awesome' as opposed to depressing and antisocial. So he was with them in a small dive of a bar on "open mic night". He suffered through the grating voices of the drunken idiots, drinking whiskey sours like water.

A familiar scent brushed against his senses but he ignored it. He'd been smelling her skin and hearing her laugh almost everywhere. He felt guilty wanting her to really be there, wanting her to still be alive. Because it would have meant that she had survived so many centuries… alone. Or worse… not alone.

"Got a date a week from Friday with a preacher's son. Everybody says he's crazy, guess I'll have to see." The familiar voice cut through the chatter and the room fell into silence as the beautiful, sweet, haunting song began. Bran's head snapped up.

The singer was short but seemed taller because of how she held herself- like she was God's gift to the world. Her curves were lush, her waist tiny, and her limbs lean with muscle. "I finally moved to Jackson when the summer came. I won't have to pay that boy to rake my leaves." Her skin was the same pale, slightly sun-kissed gold tone. "I'm probably going on and on it seems I'm doing more of that these days. I probably would be this way. I probably wouldn't hurt this bad. I never pictured every minute without you in it, Oh you left so fast. I see you standing there, sometimes I feel an angel's touch. Sometimes I feel that I'm lucky to have had the chance to love this much. God gave me a moment's grace, 'Cause if I'd never of seen your face I probably wouldn't be this way."

His heart began to race and he eyed her. Her hair was the same color, plum red- dark as a rich wine and completely natural. "Mama says I shouldn't speak to you. Susan says I should just move on. You oughta see the way these people look at me when they see me 'round here talking to this stone." It was shorter than he remembered, bone straight it had fallen to her waist, this woman's red hair was a short mane about her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were the same golden-green… "Everybody thinks I've lost my mind but I just take it day by day." God she really did visit his grave, she really was there, she really was real…

She continued to sing and Bran leaned back in his chair and listened to her voice, let it flow over him. He let the memories it brought back wash over him.

"_Oh, Bran, it is perfect." Her soft voice whispered, her golden-green eyes bright with joy. He slid the small silver ring onto her finger and pressed his lips to the cool metal and the warm skin._

"_It is nothing," he murmured in reply, slightly embarrassed to give such a rich girl something so simple, so plain._

_She laughed that high, sweet laugh he loved and shook her head, her hair catching the moonlight. "Do not be daft. You made it for me, thus it is perfect." Her words of praise made him blush and want to deny it but she placed her ring-clad hand over his mouth. "I love it," she assured him, "and I love you too."_

_He had not dared to utter those words, but he had meant the ring to say it for him. He smiled, she always understood him. He pressed a kiss to her hand again, watching as her eyes closed as she relished his touch. He pulled her hand from his lips and she pouted. He took a deep breath and dared to be bold._

_He placed her hand on his shoulder and pulled her against him. She gasped but didn't fight him. "Bran?" She asked softly. He didn't answer, just pressed his lips to hers._

_The kiss was sweet, chaste. Just a brushing of the lips, mouths closed, a slight pulling away, and then returning._

He licked his lips and Bran could still taste her. He opened his eyes to see the woman handing off the mic to another woman and return to her group of friends. He clapped with the rest of the crowd.

He got a bold idea and smiled. She'd admitted she'd liked the bold side of him. He bounded up and asked to be next for the mic.

The useless girl finished butchering "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" and he whispered his song to the DJ. The man winced and muttered something about country fans. He took the mic and looked around, pleased to see she was still in her seat.

Kellany smiled softly at her new friends. They were wild and vibrant and suited her just fine. She liked to be a little wild sometimes. "Hey Kelly," gushed Nikki, "there's a way cute guy on the stage! Turn around and have a look!"

But Kellany just shook her head. No man appealed to her, not in well over a thousand yeas had another man made her knees weak and her heart go wild like Bran had. And she doubted any could make her feel so on fire as Bran's one, chaste kiss had.

"I've changed the presets in my truck so those old songs don't sneak up. They still fine me and remind me, yeah you come back that easy." The voice was… wonderful. Deep and rich, warm and sweet, like honey. It brought tears to her eyes. Gods it sounds just like… She thought.

"Try restaurants I've never been to, order new things off the menu that I'd never tried cause you didn't like. But two drinks in and you're by my side." She quivered and dared not turn around to look at the man lest the spell his voice wove be broken. Her Bran was dead, had been since before her accident. But she let the voice wash over her and she let herself believe he was there.

"I've talked to friends, talked to myself, talked to God, I've prayed like hell, I tried sober, I tried drinking, I've been strong and I've been weak and I still miss you. I've done everything to move on like I'm supposed to. I'd give anything for one more moment with you." She fought a sob. He would sing something like this, if he were still alive, if he'd somehow found her.

"I still miss you, I still miss you baby. I never knew 'till you were gone how many pages you were on. It never end, I keep turning and line after line and you are there again." He'd be just the same. His tanned skin covering wonderfully built arms, chest and back. His dirty blonde hair still shaggy and in his eyes, like he'd always left it, no matter how hard she argued. His eyes the same perfect slightly gray blue of the sky just before a light rain.

"I don't know how to let you go, you are so deep down in my soul. I feel helpless, so hopeless, it's a door that never closes. No, I don't know how to do this." His hands would be the same too- long, strong fingers with a big square palm- and his lips, they'd be quirked just slightly into his small, just for her smile. The smile that told her long before he gave her the ring that he loved her.

She let the rest of the song tune out, fiddling with her ring, fighting the desire to turn and look. The voice, combined with her mental image… if she turned she was half sure he really would be there. The final note hung in the air and he sang "I Still miss you…. Yeah… yeah."

And she turned. Her breath caught and she wondered if it was possible to conjure a man from the grave by sheer longing. Or was he just a man who looked very much like her Bran? Yes, he was Bran's doppelganger, because her Bran was long dead, her heart with him.

But as she watched he gave her a small smile, hardly an upturning of his lips, and she KNEW. "Bran," she whispered.

Bran heard her soft exclamation, heard her hurried explanation to her friends. So when she stood and scooped up her things, making a bee-line for him he made his excuses to his friends.

He walked out of the dive, knowing she was hot in his trail. He reached his truck, in a dark corner of the parking lot, before he turned. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and her fingers twinned into his hair before their lips met.

Unlike the last kiss this was not chaste. He nipped at her lips, made her gasp and took the opportunity to thrust his tongue into her mouth. She fought him for dominance of the kiss and lost but he knew she didn't mind. She tasted the same but sharper, sweeter, better. And she felt better pressed along the length of him, her curves had filled out, her waist slimmed slightly. Her belly, taunt with muscle, pressed against his erection and he groaned, breaking the kiss, when she shifted against it.

"Bran," she whispered, reverently, "Bran it's you." Her lips pressed sweet kisses all over his face, his nose, his cheeks, his closed eyes. When she avoided his lips again he growled and caught her chin, pressing his lips to hers hungrily.

He lets his lips wander, pressing little biting kisses along her jaw, torturing the shell of her ear with his lips, teeth and tongue. She groaned when he bit her lightly, her hands slipping from his hair to brush along his neck…

He pulled away roughly with a hiss of pain, his neck burning where her hand had touched. He grasped her hand, pulling it from his bare skin and glowered at it. And then his eyes softened.

"You kept it," he murmured, tracing the lines of the ancient silver ring with his eyes.

She laughed, the same high, sweet laugh he remembered. "Because you made it for me," she murmured, "Because I loved you, because I've always loved you." She eyed him, "Did I hurt you? Why did you stop?"

He fought a laugh, "The ring… I am allergic to silver," he said softly, pressing a kiss to her palm.

"Oh," she murmured, "You're a werewolf?" He nodded, suddenly unsure and awkward. She smiled, banishing all his fears, "Well then I suppose you'll just have to replace it with a white gold one them." She slipped the ring from her finger and slid it into her pocket before wrapping hr hands back around his shoulders.

"Kel," he murmured, wrapping his hands around hers, trying to convince her to release him so they could speak.

She laughed again, "Shut up wolf-man," she said lovingly, "I've spend the last sixteen hundred years sure you were dead and mourning you every damned day. So just kiss me."

He laughed, the first honest laugh in a very long time, and pulled her back against him, pressing a loving kiss to her lips. "I love you Kellany," he whispered against her lips. His wolf woke from its depression-induced slumber by his light heartedness. It took one look at her through his eyes and howled with glee from inside his mind, overjoyed at the prospect of a new mate.

She smiled against his lips and whispered, "And I love you Bran Cornik. Now shut up and kiss me you old bard."

And kiss her he did.


End file.
